


A Volcano By Any Other Name

by AlexMac



Series: Imagine Two Nations: A collection of prompted stories [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colonialism, First Schleswig War, Gen, Historical, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexMac/pseuds/AlexMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iceland is thinking about his childhood when it suddenly occurs to him that other Nations might have the capacity to read minds. </p>
<p>Characters: Iceland, New Zealand; mentions of Denmark, Norway, Germany, Prussia, England, Hong Kong, OCs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Volcano By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> First Schleswig War, 3 May, 1852

Iceland was bored. It was bad enough that Denmark insisted he be present at war meetings – “You have to socialize with some of our kind, Ice! It has to be lonely all the way out on that island!” – but it was made much worse by the fact Norway, the only other Nation he was at all interested in talking to, was so firm in his neutrality in this matter that he would not come even to see his “brother”. He looked around the table at England, Denmark, German Confederation, and the others, and sighed heavily. He would have to entertain himself quietly for several hours at least, it would seem. England's face was solidly connected to the oak table, and Denmark was actually being quiet for once, apparently seething at some particularly offensive proposed terms.

Despite his host's currently less-than-glorious posture, he had obviously put some effort into displaying his power. He had several of his colonial possessions with his diplomatic brigade, including Bengal, Hong Kong, and New Zealand; his home was decorated with relics from all over the world; he had a large model of the HMS Ark Royal in a glass case. There might as well have been a large and tasteful banner hanging from the ceiling, saying “The United Kingdom is all-powerful and better than all of you.” Of course, there wasn't. It was funny to think about though. Iceland continued to survey his surroundings contemplatively for some time, but the fifth or sixth time he ran his eyes over the space, he found himself with nothing left to do. So he imagined.

When Iceland was a child, there was nothing he would have loved more than to be allowed to travel with Norway and Denmark to the far-off reaches of the world, from Newfoundland to Byzantine. The world was both so much larger and so much smaller now. He let himself think of the “daring adventures across the sea!” he often had as a kid, and how now his daring adventures regularly include geology textbooks and vomit. He let himself get carried away by his memories, until he remembered that he was in the home of a sorcerer.

Oops.

He had no capacity for magic himself. However, Norway had taught him a couple tricks when he was a kid, things that could potentially expose certain kinds of magic users, “in case”. None of them were very difficult – you could make a mental command to expose a mind reader, or use exaggerated hand gestures to determine if anyone could see the elvenfolk in your general vicinity. He quickly commanded anyone reading his mind to cough.

A small “ahem” came from the other side of the room.

He made the command again, louder.

The “ahem” sounded again, more pronounced.

It had come from a woollen-shod figure on England's delegation. One with distinctive wavy-curly hair and complexion that was a creamy sort of brown. If Iceland's memory served him correctly, this was the colony of Nýja Sjáland – no, New Zealand, speak English in England – and...

“Are you as bored as I am?” he heard in his head. “Because you seem like it. You can think your answer, if you want.”

“Ó já. Þetta er mest leiðinlegur dagur alltaf. Um. English. Yes. This is the most boring day ever.”  
“Agreed completely. So what is it like in the middle of northern nowhere?”

“Farmland, mostly. I've got some, ah, hérna...” He projected the best mental image he could muster of Eyjafjallajökull erupting, hoping New Zealand would get the message.

“Wow. We have those at home too, puia, Vulcan in English?”

“Latin. I don't know the word in English though.”

“Something more similar to your language than mine, I should think. I am still much too Māori for his tastes still.” The words carried with them a touch of homesickness and a mess of bitterness, a mixture that Iceland knew to avoid. He grimaced in sympathy.

Prussia began to swear loudly in German and French, and the meeting was suddenly much more interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't speak Icelandic or Māori, so it probably sucks. If anyone does speak Icelandic or Māori, I'm totally open to correction!


End file.
